Noughts and Crosses
by pot kettle black
Summary: They say you can't control old magic: Draco and Hermione are mysteriously tossed back in time just as Voldemort fires a killing curse their way. There, they find that things aren't usually what they seem. Humor, Horror, Love. HermionexTom, HGxTR.
1. in loving thee

**NOUGHTS AND CROSSES**

_In loving thee thou knows't I am forsworn,_

The Hogwarts Express rumbled over its tracks. Scarlet and billowing, it sliced the landscape leaving an acrid trail of smoke to breeze away behind it. It was eleven thirty in the morning and the sun glinted off the windows; a clear, impossible bright.

Inside the train the snack cart had just gone by, and Tom Riddle had somehow managed to finagle a cup of hot tea from the witch pushing it. He took a sip, not bothering to even glance out the window when Amias Malfoy commented, smilingly, "It's a beautiful day." Instead he made a face at the thin liquid and replaced the cup on its saucer.

"Weak."

"Well," Amias replied. "I don't think that observing what a nice day it is is necessarily--"

Tom's gaze sauntered across the table. "The tea, Amias."

"Ah," the other boy said. "I hadn't noticed you were drinking any."

"His tea is never strong enough," that was Eris from his right, brushing a length of dark hair behind her ear.

He didn't even acknowledge that she'd spoken. On the table, Nagini angled her head and hissed. Tom hissed something in response before focusing on Amias again. "Where is Elaina?"

"Hobnobbing with that Gryffindor bludger for brains and his cronies," Kerstan chimed in, a superior smirk plastered on his face.

Eris smiled. "Oh," she said, "Danny's nice."

The younger Malfoy brother scoffed. "He's an idiot."

"I don't think his thoroughly whipping you at Quidditch qualifies him for idiocy." Nadia, seated to Kerstan's right and near the door, didn't so much as glance up from her slim book titled _The Role of Naughts in Arithmantic Theory_. She turned a page, impervious to Kerstan's seething.

"He didn't _whip_ us," Kerstan said. "It was a very close game--"

"_Last_ year," Nadia pointed out, taking a bit of time to highlight a particular passage. "Not only did you lose, but you're _still_ sore over it."

Kerstan nearly stood up at that, gray eyes blazing. "We only lost, because--"

"That's enough, Kerstan," Amias interrupted, wearing a half-smile that seemed rueful and not a little nervous. "I don't really think they care about Quidditch so much."

Kerstan sat back and huffed. "It wasn't fair, that's all I'll say. There's no way that bloody stupid muggle loving--"

"Really, Kerstan," Amias said, a bit more forcefully that time.

Tom Riddle looked up then, simply, and the compartment fell deadly silent. Nadia shut her book and set it face up on the table, Kerstan appeared more attentive and respectful than he had been the entire trip.

"Back to the business at hand," Tom said.

Nagini slithered past Eris and toward the door. Raising her head, she looked rather insistently at the only person in the compartment who had yet to speak. Ardennes Snape ran a hand through his tawny hair and sighed as Nagini aimed a sharp, short hiss at him.

"Hallows," he began, his voice tired, hollow. "Are too difficult to acquire-- if they're even real, that is. Horcruxes, while effective, might be weakening-- it still hasn't been looked into and while I think it's safe to assume that Slughorn's opinion is a little more than biased, the man generally knows what he's talking about." Ardennes took a heavy breath there, and massaged the back of his neck. "Philosopher's Stone implies dependency," he continued. "And the last..."

"You're not capable of," Eris finished, turning to Tom with a flourish, a smug smile lighting its way across her face.

Impressively, Tom did not grit his teeth. He considered his teacup quite intently, refusing to make a response.

Nadia, ever and always unable to contain her curiosity nearly snapped after a few, brief seconds. "Well what is it?" she asked, eyes drilling Ardennes. "The last?"

"It's... a sacrifice," Ardennes replied, fiddling with the hair behind his ear.

Amias tilted his head, directed a good-natured, queting look at the pair across the way. "Surely that's not all," he said. "I mean, we've made sacrifices before..."

"That's just the most difficult part of a very complicated potion companion to a very complicated spell," Ardennes elaborated. "The key ingredient, from what I've managed to find seems to be... a sacrifice."

Nagini hissed, low and threatening.

"Of _what_, man," Kerstan blurted. "That's what we're asking. A sacrifice _of what_."

A cold smile flickered over Tom's features, twisting them terribly for a blink. "I think I can hazard a guess," he said. "Might it be 'something dearly loved'."

"Well," Ardennes replied. _"Someone, _rather. 'Someones' work as well-- according to my research there was a wizard in 14th century France who butchered his entire family."

"So why isn't he still alive?" Nadia asked archly. "Why haven't I heard about him?"

Ardennes shrugged. "It has to be reciprocal love and according to the legend his poor muggle wife was only infatuated with him to start, and even that died once she began suspecting her husband of sorcery."

Spreading her hands in a gesture of mock plaintiveness, Eris said, "See? Incapable," she shook her head-- more mockery. "How very tragic."

Tom gave no sign that he heard her.

"Horcruxes, yet again, appear to be the best solution. Thank you again, Ardennes, for providing me with useless information I was already privy to," Tom stated drolly, before taking another sip of his, now luke-warm, tea.

"Of course if--" Eris started to say.

But Ardennes had finally managed to get his hands out of his hair, he touched the back of Eris's hand very briefly in warning. "I do what I can," he said, bowing his head toward Nagini.

"Tom," Amias put in, purposely shifting attention from the pair. "If it is going to be Horcruxes..."

"I'll take care of it myself," Tom nodded.

There was an intervening silence then, where it was clear that Eris wanted to say something they all knew she probably shouldn't.

In the end, she found whatever stupidity she needed to do it. She took a deep breath and said, seriously, finally, for once:

"Horcruxes won't be strong enough," a short pause. "Because you're not strong enough, Tom."

And for the first time since the train left the station, Tom Riddle admitted her presence, turning to flash her one of his deadliest smiles.

"Oh? Is that a Prophecy or a personal opinion?"

A short, awkward laugh, froze in her throat. She looked like she'd choked.

"It's wishful thinking," she said. "Now isn't _that_ pathetic?"

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. The quote on the top is Shakespeare (again).

**Notes: **

Not my usual zippy start, but it sets up what it needs to. It's the AIR rewrite. No familiarity with AIR is required, since this is almost an entirely different story. Different as in better and with less plot holes & inconsistencies, also with erm a more canon feel? Still AU for obvious reasons, but with more canon incorporated. AIR, in all its terrible imperfection, will still be updated.

**Next Chapter:** Hermione and Draco.


	2. reflexes got the better of me

**NOUGHTS AND CROSSES**

_Reflexes got the better of me_

It was cold.

Grey stone piled high, forming walls, funneling him inward. His father's hand on his shoulder was firm and steady. Words were slipping from the man that Draco had never heard before like "Son," and "I've never been more proud of you." A set of the warmest syllables Draco'd heard in a long time.

And that meant something. Lucius gave him everything he wanted, but that acquiesance wasn't the same as pride. Anything Draco could call an accomplishment, his father called 'expected'. Anything Draco would've called a 'small mistake' or 'impossible to avoid', his father called an absolute disgrace. Their relationship dipped from luke-warm to cold, but now, finally:

"I've never been more proud of you."

It meant something.

When, in July, a beaming Lucius took strong hold of his shoulder-- much the same way he was doing now-- and said, "Son, I didn't think you were equal to it. I can't wait to see you prove me wrong."

It meant tons.

So much so that for a long time Draco could ignore the ice that seemed to have started crawling slowly up his spine the moment the words "Father, I want to be a Death Eater" left his lips. He could ignore the way that the ice would spike every time Death Eaters were mentioned; the way frost feathered through him whenever his father began talking excitedly about Draco's future, because none of that meant anything.

Draco's mum begged the both of them not to go through with it, going so far as to tear up sometimes at dinner while looking desparately at her small family, and when she did that, Draco's father--without even looking up from cutting his meat--would say,

"Draco's a man, Narcissa. He is perfectly capable of making his own decisions."

That meant everything.

So what, Draco thought, if perhaps he didn't quite think he was equal to the tasks Death Eaters were required to perform regularly. Like murder, like torture. So what? So what if Theo had brought up a few good points-- just a few-- about pain and enslavement and being put to death by his beloved master or used like a puppet for cannon fodder (whatever that was). So _what_?

After I receive the Mark, he assured himself. He'd told it to Theo as well. "After the Mark I'll be able to do whatever I have to."

Theodore, annoying as he always was, shook his head. "That's not going to change anything. Don't you know yourself by now? You won't be able to blame it all on Voldemort--" and Draco winced. "--it'll be you. All you, all your choice. Absolute culpability, absolute guilt, and you're a whiny little bugger, Draco, excellent at denial, but you're not stupid enough for that."

And Draco thought Theo could go fuck himself and told him so in many more words than that. Theo shrugged, kept his expression guarded, said "It's up to you if you want to ruin your life. None of them are happy, you know, and none of them have any power either. It's Him that's got everything _and_ them. It'll be you that's the biggest fool if you join him knowing that. Knowing what fealty's done to your father. To mine, for that matter."

"Oh, what do you know, Nott?" Draco retorted.

And it looked like Theo was about to give up. About to turn around and retreat back into his manor. He'd plucked off his thin rimmed glasses and started massaging the bridge of his nose-- a clear indication that he was fed up and about to storm off-- and Draco was starting to feel victorious.

But then, just as the Malfoy boy was sure he could see his cousin's irritating foot lift off the ground, Nott pinned him. A hard stare from eyes as dark and blue as the deepest parts of the ocean.

"Do what you want," Theo said without the barest hint of conciliation in his voice. "Throw your life away for a nice pat on the back from 'Daddy', go right ahead if you feel like you need to." Sharp. Draco remembered having the distinct impression that Theo was whipping knives through his convictions. "But don't even _think_ about coming to me when you've got a Mark on your arm you can't get off that _burns_ at Lord Voldemort's merest whim. Once you're that far along it's Potter you'll be begging at."

_Then_ Theo snapped his glasses back on. He stood for a moment, took a bit of time to set them perfectly straight on his nose, then nodded to Draco and leisurely strolled back into the Nott house.

And the fact that Draco couldn't muster any anger, couldn't rally any of his abundant indignation-- the fact that all he felt after Nott left him was a piercing chill and a bit of nausea-- that was nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, _nothing_ but paranoid, whinging, _weakness_.

O

She didn't know why she didn't tell them. The picture smouldered in her pocket, made her throat lump up. She was going to meet the both of them--late, because she'd spent so much time thinking about it--and she couldn't get it out of her head.

They were on a Hogsmeade trip. The first and probably only one of the year-- just to keep spirits up; just so they would be able to shop for the Yule Ball. More than a few teachers were chaperoning and Hermione was sure there were Order of the Phoenix members posted throughout the village. Harry and Ron had gone ahead with the first group, because she'd told them not to wait.

Research. That's what kept her-- looking up old countercurses in the Restricted Section. She'd opened the first book she'd got permission for and there it was. Stuck between the cover and the title page-- a photograph. Of her and a boy she didn't recognize, possibly the most handsome boy she'd ever seen-- all dark hair and piercing eyes. It was a very old picture and Hermione picked it out of the book to get a closer look at it, because, on second thought, she knew that girl there couldn't be her. Perhaps a wizarding ancestor she'd never heard about, but surely not herself.

She flipped it over and there, on the back, was a message. Quite simply it said:

_Hermione, watch the time._

She forgot to take the book with her. Replaced it on the shelf without much circumstance, and left the library. But the picture she stuffed into her coat. She'd meant to show it to Ron and Harry when she got back to the common room; ask them what they thought it meant, because it was quite puzzling. Except that she didn't. They were about to leave and all she said was,

"Could you tell McGonagall I want to go with the second group? There's something else I want to look up."

She couldn't fault Harry for the way he just nodded and said all right. He had a lot on his mind. Ron balked as always, but they shushed him and got him out the door. Once they were gone, Hermione took a seat near the fire, pulled out the picture and narrowed her eyes at it.

_It's probably a trick_, she thought. _Someone in Slytherin-- Malfoy, maybe?_

Shaking her head, she stuffed it back into her pocket, made her way down to the Great Hall, met the second group heading out for Hogsmeade. And now, searching for Harry and Ron, she couldn't help but check her watch.

It was eleven o' six exactly, when she heard the scream.

O

Draco would have covered his ears if he didn't think he'd be ridiculed for it. Pansy's screaming caught him off guard. Seemed to catch everyone off guard as it ricocheted through the chamber. For a moment, he felt bad. Terribly bad that he'd told her this would be a good idea-- dragged her and Goyle along with him, because... Because what?

He was afraid. Breaking out in a cold sweat under his robes. His eyes were fixed on Pansy and He-Knew-Who, a wand to her wrist, her face twisted in pain. His father snapped something about silencing charms, and a few Death Eaters moved to set them up at the door to the chamber. Within seconds, the noise dulled, but the first, bare note of it hung in Draco's ears.

It was going to hurt. Merlin it was going to hurt and there was no going back.

O

Eleven o' seven. The screaming stopped rather abruptly and Hermione knew this was a stupid thing to do. Perhaps the most stupid thing she'd ever done in her life. She was down stairs, in a tunnel that was pitch dark. That she didn't recognize, which was absolutely ridiculous, because she'd been going to Hogsmeade for years. It wasn't a very big village-- there was no way she could ever have missed something like this.

Mentally, she went over things she _should_ have done when she first heard the scream. Run was the first. Off to find a teacher or a member of the Order. Rushing in, wand at the ready, was most definitely the last thing she should have done. As a matter of fact, upon reflection she found that it didn't even make her list. But there she was and there didn't seem to be any turning back. The tunnel seemed to fog up behind her. Shadows blurring into a wall.

"Lumos" she said, considering the mass of black before her. Holding up her wand, she _peered_.

O

Draco was running before he even heard her. It was stupid, stupid, oh so perfectly stupid, but stunning and sudden enough so that no one thought to curse him. The Dark Lord was busy with Pansy and couldn't be moved. Draco was a good runner, he knew, and he'd made it quite a ways down the corridor before anyone thought to chase him.

He saw the light up ahead and didn't think much of it at all until he barrelled into its source. His nose nearly kissing the cold stone.

O

Eleven o' eight when she crashed to the ground, neck going stiff to keep her head from slamming against the floor. She couldn't breathe-- had all the air knocked out of her, and something heavy was keeping her down.

She heard it swear and knew she'd recognize that ferrety voice anywhere. "Malfoy?"

"Damn it, Mudblood," he said, scrambling to his feet. "You've ruined everything."

She didn't even have time to be offended--

O

--they'd caught up to him. He pointed his wand at the Gryffindor on the floor and thought. Fast. He'd run, there was no hiding the fact, and no way he could escape. The Death Eaters were lined up behind him, all with their wands pointed in his direction.

"Draco," Lucius's voice, strident and unwavering. "What _is_ the meaning of this?"

"I thought I heard something," Draco lied cooly. "And here I've found this Mudblood spy."

Draco wasn't going to fool himself, though. The Dark Lord would know he was lying and whether he did it today or later, Draco was going to die for it. As far as Draco saw it, he only had one chance...

O

_I'm going to die_. Hermione was nearly sure of it. She'd done something unforgivably stupid and now she was going to die. Her wand was out of her reach and there was no way she'd be able to make a grab for it without one of the Death Eaters cursing her.

Because that's what they were, she registered in a distressed sort of way. Death Eaters. Quite a lot of them, with Draco at the front, his wand pointed directly at her. She was frightened, but not so frightened that she didn't notice he seemed to be trying to tell her something. That he'd been running away.

O

"Excellent work, Draco," that was Nott. Theo's father, sounding more pompous than Theo ever could.

Draco circled Hermione, so that he was closer to the exit. He made sure his movement kicked her wand--out now and dark--to her. She took hold of it, rather sneakily shoving it up her sleeve.

Once they started back to the chamber, Draco figured he could hang back, then make a run for it with the Mudblood. If they made it out of the tunnel they had a chance-- Hogsmeade was teeming with members of Dumbledore's little Army. Even then, the idea was like a thread he refused to let go of, the very thinnest of all fragile hopes. Then the tunnel went Deathly silent. Draco felt his spine go hollow.

They were out of--

O

--time, time, time. Hermione didn't even know why she was still thinking about it. It should have been the last thing on her mind, what with You-Know-Who having slithered up right in front of her. But she had to think of _something_ other than escape. Other than the wand up her sleeve. Other than the fact that Draco seemed to be helping her.

So she thought about time. By her estimation it was probably eleven o' nine.

O

"Ah, yes, Draco," the Dark Lord said. "Good work."

And Draco knew even though he didn't have nearly enough courage to look up into You-Know-Who's eyes, that the man... thing... thought he was lying. Knew he was lying. Draco fought the panic that bubbled up. He had to stay calm. Obvious fear was instant death.

So he bowed. "It was nothing, Your Excellency."

The Dark Lord turned to Lucius. "I think killing the Mudblood would be a brilliant way for your son to demonstrate his loyalty, don't you?" he asked coldly.

Lucius bowed in return. "Of course, My Lord."

"Before he receives the Mark, perhaps?"

Draco couldn't tell if his father was worried behind his hood, but he imagined he was. "My Lord, I assure you, Draco is perfectly loyal."

"Ah, of course, Lucius," the Dark Lord said. "Shall we back to the chamber? Draco and the Mudblood can lead us."

Effectively placing a handful of Death Eaters between Draco and the exit.

They were finished.

O

She didn't think it was quite eleven ten yet when they hauled her to her feet. Draco marched her down a tunnel that opened up into a dimly lit, circular chamber.

The Death Eaters filed in behind them almost directing them to the center of the chamber, then forming a wall around the two students. You-Know-Who stood at the place between them and the exit.

"Now, Draco," he was saying. "Show us just how loyal you are."

Hermione's eyes locked with the Slytherin's. She wasn't begging. Just wondering.

O

If he could do this thing, this one thing it might buy him time. He might see the light of day again. He was sure Dumbledore would forgive him. It wasn't as though he had a choice. Just this one thing. His wand was forward, arm rigid, but he couldn't find it in him to say the words.

It wasn't as though he had any fondness for the girl in front of him. In point of fact he didn't care at all whether she lived or died.

Still.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord drawled. "Is it possible that, perhaps, your son is not a loyal as you've intimated?"

"Of course not, My Lord," Lucius said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Draco, finish her."

Dimly, Draco was aware of the fact that his arm was shaking. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly, but He saw it.

"He can't," the Dark Lord rounded on Lucius. "Why do you think that is, Malfoy?" he asked, the thin slice of his mouth curving into a serpentine smile.

Lucius had no answer for him. "Draco," he said. "Do it."

"Perhaps," the Dark Lord intoned, as though in preparation for saying something absolutely delicious. He'd raised his wand toward Draco, and the boy knew what was going to come. Six syllables. That was it. He couldn't manage, but You-Know-Who definitely could. "Perhaps," the Dark Lord had said. "It is because your son is a filthy blood traitor."

Lucius didn't even have time to shout "NO!"

O

Eleven eleven exact, when Hermione saw the curse bolting toward Draco, almost as though in slow motion.

O

Eleven eleven exact, when, in a flash of green, they were gone.

O

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Harry Potter. The quote at the top is from "I Shot the Sherriff" Bob Marley.

**Notes: **Blaise Zabini is probably the first casualty of the rewrite. He's been replaced by Theo Nott for a variety of reasons including, but not just, because his surname is "Nott". He's a touch more serious than Blaise... I think it's the glasses. That and possibly the Death Eater Dad.

Also, just to clarify, I don't mean for these notes to sound pretentious. I mean, I didn't think they did, but I guess some people think they do, which is confusing. But what do I know, I'm drunk half the time anyway. ... ... ... gah.

**Thanks: **to everyone who reviewed the first chapter of this. _Youko-sama, Cathar, Emriel, Snazzy SNAFU, Inner Dementia, Gueneviere, JellyBellys, and .com_


	3. well it could've been would've been

**NOUGHTS AND CROSSES**

_Well, it could've been, would've been worse than you would ever know._

She blinked. Once. And again. And again, and again, and again.

"I seriously doubt the killing curse was going to _stop in place_ to stare at you and go 'Oh, what a pretty girl, batting her eyes at me'."

Slowly, she turned her head.

There was Draco, standing upright. Still alive and doing an alarmingly good impression of a stereotypical hag. His nose was scrunched up, lips curled, hands bent at nearly palsied angles, and his voice still carried that whine from his old-woman's voice that'd sounded, to Hermione, like an eighty year old drag queen after decades of smoking and a very recent helium inhalation.

"'Specially not with _your_ face," he finished, sliding out of his pose.

Her disbelief at how nonchalant he was at still being alive temporarily outranked her disbelief at the fact that she was still alive to disbelieve anything. "Oh, _shut up,_ Malfoy," she managed once she'd fully processed the sight of him.

"Cleverest comeback I ever heard," he rounded.

"You're so... so... _stupid_," Hermione shouted, unable to hold herself back. "Do you realize... do you even know what just happened?"

Draco stood a little straighter and crossed his arms. It seemed to the Gryffindor girl like his eyes darkened just the slightest. Of course that could have been the slant of his hair as he dipped his head forward just a bit to regard her sneeringly. "Of course I know what just happened," he said-- apparently as steadily as he could manage, but Hermione could hear a slight quavering. "I very nearly just bloody _died_ is what happened."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And you're making _jokes_!"

"Well what would you rather I do?" Draco yelled back. "Fall to my knees crying? Thank Merlin I'm still alive, what, Granger? Shit my pants, would that be appropriate behaviour in your book for this particular situation?"

"No," her eyebrows scrunched and went forward. "But you could've--"

"What?" Draco interrupted smoothly, "Stood around blinking like an idiot for five minutes?"

And Hermione wasn't proud of herself just then. She stopped thinking. The questions of how and why they were still alive that'd been floating at the tip of her tongue flew straight to the back of her mind. If she could have painted a picture of her brain just then, it would have been rendered in crimsons and icy blues. She clenched her teeth, curled her fists, turned on her heel and marched straight out of the chamber without another word.

Once Draco was sure she was gone, he uncrossed his arms and collapsed slowly to his knees, shaking all the way.

"Merlin," he said, voice cracking. "What just happened?"

O

Amias Malfoy was worried. Quite worried. Persistently worried. In point of fact, he was beginning to think that worriment had become his default state-- yet another thing he could fret over. He rubbed his forehead as though his fingers could somehow extract the anxiety from his skull and took a deep breath. Barely over two months into the year and--

"So what if Tom nearly killed me?" that was Ardennes, laying on his bed and exhibiting, strangely, signs of both apathy and gravity at once. "It's not as though he hasn't been threatening to do just that for the past bloody year."

"It could've been an accident," Amias offered, knowing at once that it wasn't.

"Oh, yes," Ardennes replied flatly. "The Great Heir to Slytherin mistakes silver nitrate for sodium nitrate? Forgot to do a simple identifying spell to check? Tom Riddle? Of course, that must be what happened."

Amias shook his head. "At least you're still alive."

"For how long?" Ardennes asked. "How long til he decides I'm more irritating than useful?"

"I don't think he can figure out the Horcruxes on his own," Amias replied after a protracted sigh. "If that's any consolation."

"Oh, it's wonderful," Ardennes said.

There was a long pause then. Amias couldn't think of anything to say. Ardennes was a good friend, an old friend, they'd known each other since they were six, but You-Know-Who... well, he seemed to override all friendships. It wasn't so much that he inspired terror-- though that he did--, it was almost as though he had an aura, vast and dark as a black hole compelling those around him to bend to his will. That and the watches. Always the watches.

"You know I swear he edged this thing with silver." Ardennes lifted his pocket watch up by the chain and dangled it over his face. "I can feel it pressing all the time. He said he made mine specially out of steel? Different from yours? Half a lie."

Amias watched the watch spin, light glinting off the two snakes embossed on the front of it, then Ardennes' name engraved into the back. The eldest Malfoy put his hand to his chest, feeling his own watch under his robes. He shook his head.

"I don't know if he did or not; he's certainly capable," Amias replied. "But I'd imagine mine presses just the same way yours does." He paused and cracked a cynical smile. "It makes my heart heavy."

O

Hermione didn't care what'd just happened. Or she did care, it was vitally important, except, how could Draco be such an _arse,_ and Merlin what'd just happened, and Merlin, _what an arse_.

She knew two things: that she had to report to Dumbledore and that the fastest way to do that was to find one of the staff members or a member of the Order of the Phoenix watching over the Hogwarts students during their excursion. Accordingly, she swung her head from side to side as she speedwalked through the town, scanning faces for ones she recognized.

Which was when the real panic hit.

O

And finally, Draco stood up, brushing his eyes and dusting off his clothes.

He felt weak. And tired. And wary. He took another good look around the chamber, toeing the exact spot they'd disappeared from and walking on an imaginary line from there to You-Know-Who's wand.

At that point he stopped. Turned round. Held out his arm, wand in hand, and narrowed his eyes over it. "Avada Kedavra," he whispered. "Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, _Avada Kedavra." _He felt a light surge of power every time the words passed his lips.

It was so easy now. So simple.

Until he imagined Granger there again. Then Potter, then Weasley, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, anyone.

He lowered his arm, stuffing his wand into his robes. Frightened and ashamed he turned to leave the chamber.

He didn't get it. When he thought of killing an actual person. The words wouldn't come: his face contorted, his eyes shut, he tried to spit them out and nothing.

A coward-- that's what he was, and what had it cost him? He couldn't even begin to think.

Merlin's beard, he needed a fire whisky. Although if he couldn't get that, a butterbeer would do...

O

The Hogs Head was as busy as it ever was, teeming with the usual shady characters, who, for whatever reason preferred the dingy glasses of that establishment to the pristine ones the Three Broomsticks served their drinks in. Most would've thought it was a rather interesting place. As a matter of fact, that was generally how people responded when asked what it was like in there.

They'd tilt their heads to the side, perhaps put a hand to their chins, pursed their lips, and then, squinting as though they were trying to read the answer off a far wall, say something like "Well... it's... _interesting."_

Of course, that wasn't everyone. Sometimes people said things like:

"This is _sooo_ bloody boring."

Kerstan's voiced stretched out in a long, painful groan--he sounded like a dying elephant falling over in the savannah.

The younger Malfoy brother nudged his mug with his index finger.

He was sitting with his back to the door with Elaina to his right and Eris directly across from him. The former was tracing circles in the rounded table using the condensation from her mug and her forefinger, while the latter whispered harsh things to the snake around her neck.

Kerstan poked his mug again, with more force this time.

"B-O," it rocked in its coaster,

"R-I," steadied,

"N-G," toppled.

Elaina caught the mug expertly while Eris jumped back in her seat and yelped.

"Oh, it wasn't going to _break_," Kerstan said, his tone carrying more than a touch of condescencion.

Elaina set the mug upright. "It _is_ glass, though."

Kerstan waved a hand dismissively. "There's never anything going _on_ in this stupid town," he groaned, leaning over the table dramatically. "Unless someone's attacking it and we're all facing _death_. It's positively moronic. Why do we even bother coming here?"

"There's less to do at the school," Elaina replied, propping her elbow on the table and resting her head on her open palm. A moment went by before her forehead twitched just the slightest. "Actually--"

"--there's much more to do at the school," Eris finished. "After you think about it for a second. Still, the change of scenery is nice."

"This might as well be Hogwarts," Kerstan complained. "Same sights. Same students, there're just a bunch of old people milling around as well.. and this is the Hogs Head for Merlin's sake, you'd think _someone_ interesting would pop in. Usually it never fails..." Kerstan paused in his rambling and squinted across the table at Eris. "What are you looking at?"

The long haired girl shook her head. The snake hissed at her in a way that sounded almost threatening. "Oh I don't think it's failed you yet," she said.

Elaina glanced up at the door. "Oh, look," she said. "Amias has come to join in your extensive boredom."

Eris frowned. "Are you sure that's Amias?" she asked. "I don't think it is. He's too thin, can you tell? Something about his eyes as well. The jaw is weaker; the nose looks slightly more pinched. Pointier." Eris tapped the tip of her own nose with a sharp sort of idleness.

"What are you talking about?" Kerstan asked, dragging his seat around to see the Amias/Non-Amias person that'd just walked in. "Of course that's..." his voice trailed off as he narrowed his eyes to get a better look. Something _was_ off. There wasn't a person in the world who knew what Amias looked like better than Kerstan and the boy standing near the doorway, staring right back at him certainly wasn't Amias. Close. But not. "Hell," he muttered. "Who is that?"

"You tell us," Elaina replied. "At least it's interesting."

O

She wanted to say she was flummoxed. The word kept coming up as though it was bouncing around in her skull knocking into the left side, bopping the right, swirling and swirling. Flum-moxed Fluuuuuummoxed. But that was most definitely not the right word. Her present situation was much too dire for something so quaint.

Floored, knocked for six, completely at sea, in a rowboat with no oars and a lovely hole at the bottom of it, bailing with a teacup and one of those little spoons for stirring in the sugar and milk--that was where she was.

Because this was not even possible. She didn't recognize _anyone_ and not just that-- the stores had all changed-- or mostly changed. Very disturbing considering that whole towns didn't just up and... and...

She didn't even know what Hogsmeade had just done. Couldn't even begin to guess. It was boggling--no, staggering. _I have to find Dumbledore_.

That became her mantra. She shambled through the streets, eyebrows furrowed almost permanently, the eyes under them darting from left to right, hyper aware, focused, ready for anything. _I have to find Dumbledore_. She entered Honeydukes--or the shop that was currently located where Honeydukes should have been. She smiled at the proprietors, snuck into their cellar, and started walking, briskly.

_I have to find Dumbledore._

O

Draco was buggered. He knew it from the second he stepped out of that chamber and onto the streets of Hogsmeade. Well, actually he'd known it before when he was at the Death Eater Initiation about to become a Death Eater and had been knowing it pretty consistently ever since.

But it took him leaving the chamber to find out that he was _especially_ buggered. Everyone on the street was dressed, well, like his _grandfather_. They definitely hadn't been before, that much he knew.

Also, there were no students around-- at least none he recognized. He saw one or two people who looked his age milling about, but he'd never noticed them at Hogwarts and of course he knew everyone his age at school. They were staring at him a little, so he straightened his robes and turned toward the Hogs Head.

The shop signs were different. That was another thing he noticed. Some of the stores weren't what they were supposed to be. The Weasels' joke shop wasn't around and neither was that obnoxiously frilly tea shop, whose escaped him just then. Madame Puddingmuffin's or something just as stupid.

_Need a drink._

_Need a drink._

_Need a drink_.

He had absolutely no idea what was going on. Granger was nowhere in sight and he somehow doubted that she would be any help even if she _hadn't_ stormed off. He very much wanted to sit down. Sit down, relax, order himself a fire whisky, get denied fire whisky for being underage, settle for a butterbeer, it sounded like a good plan. The best plan, in fact, what with the Death Eaters gone and the mudblood off to tell the Headmaster and the whole town looking like it'd just regressed a good fifty years or so.

He stepped into the Hogs Head and stood by the door for a second, scanning the bar for a table. That's when he saw him:

Uncle Kerstan.

And suddenly it made sense. Well, it didn't make sense, exactly, but Draco caught on. The clothes, the shops, the everything, and Uncle Kerstan. Fifty years? Or so?

_This_ must _be a joke,_ he thought. Of course there was no way anyone could possibly execute such an elaborate trick, so his next thought was:

_Merlin. I need a drink_.

He was about to cover his face, turn around, and head for the Three Broomsticks when his Uncle Kerstan somehow appeared right in front of his face looking not a little confused and also not a little angry. Uncle Kerstan always got angry when things confused him. He also tended to get confused quite a bit, as Draco recalled.

"Who in the bloody hell are you?" he asked, jabbing his finger and Draco threateningly.

"Draco?" Draco blurted out, too startled to make something up. _Bugger._

"Draco _what_?" Kerstan demanded.

"Malfoy?"

_Double bugger._

"Well, I'm Kerstan Malfoy," Uncle Kerstan said, raising himself to his full height-- still a good three inches shy of Draco's. "And I've never heard of you."

Draco could've kicked himself just then.

_Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger._

O

She tore through the portrait hole like a celibate out of a brothel, not even hesitating to think about whether someone was on the other side-- that wasn't anywhere near important at the moment.

The hallway was empty anyway, except for someone--

Someone with platinum hair. There was only one person that could possibly be and there was no possible way he could've beat her there...

"Malfoy!?"

* * *

**Disclaimer: **the quote at the top is from "Dashboard" by Modest Mouse

**Notes**: Sorry for the wait, hope it doesn't suck. Also, if you have time, maybe check out the HEA rewrite: The Raveller? I really liked the plot for HEA, but the writing was extremely weak on account of--adolescence? The Raveller should be much better-- and more um... fun. It's going to be a few chapters til you see the Tom in that fic, but he's going to be ... different. Hopefully in an interesting way.

**As always, Thanks! **arrowgirl23, McFressie, Gueneviere, Cathar -_ I think someon that reviewed AIR said something about the notes. I'm not sure though._, Youko-sama - _The photograph is totally new. I think it was supposed to be in the original, but the fact that I'm not a very meticulous person meant that it totally got left out_, Charlotte232, Kou Shun'u - _Your first question's a plot issue. As to the second, I'm not actually sure at which book this story stops being canon. At some point I just started picking things out trying to gel it as much as possible--and also juicy up the plot, so it's sort of just... really AU. Sorry about that_, Right or Ryn - _Yes, plot points-- but I can 90 guarantee you that there will be no declarations of love between Draco and Hermione--it'd be too boring!_, .com, Snazzy SNAFU, .cottonkiwi, 3rdplanet, Lrnd, Flaignhan, and Inner Dementia


	4. there must be some kind of way out

**NOUGHTS AND CROSSES**

* * *

_There must be some kind of way out of here / said the joker to the thief_

* * *

People did not usually call Amias by his surname. There was a very practical and obvious reason for this: he had a brother named Kerstan Malfoy just a year younger than him. If someone simply yelled "Malfoy" in the hall, two heads would turn and the yeller would have to, sheepishly, he almost hoped, backpedal and clarify which "Malfoy" he or she meant.

In this particular case, Amias was absolutely sure that whoever shouted was shouting for Kerstan. People did not usually yell for Amias in angry surprise, but _someone_ was always mad at Kerstan for some reason. Especially female someones.

He turned around slowly, keeping himself composed and well postured. He would simply tell whatever fourth or fifth (he really did hope it wasn't a _third_ year-- not _again_) year girl that happened to be in the hall that she was mistaken and Kerstan was currently at Hogsmeade and that he really had no control over his brother's proclivities, but if she was _really_ upset, she was more than welcome to wait outside the common room til Kerstan got back and screech at him for as long as she pleased-- and Amias would even help, only right now he had some very, very important things to attend to and--

There was a girl in the hall, of course. All bushy hair and brown eyes. A skinny little thing with a pretty, though utterly shocked, face. He didn't recognize her at all. Not one freckle on her otherwise clear, flat cheeks. It was completely mystifying to him. She didn't seem _so_ young, and he should have at least _seen_ her somewhere before-- Amias Malfoy wasn't exactly one to forget a face.

His whole speech collapsed on his tongue. Fumbled outward in a ruin of sentiment like so: "I'm sorry... are you... looking for Kerstan.., he's at Hogsmeade, were you wanting to screech at him?" He was almost horrified by his lack of decorum-- he'd never meant to say the word "screech" out loud.

She looked more confused than surprised then, and Amias felt a bit like treading air. He thought that that might be something like treading water, except even more empty and indirect.

_She must be a transfer,_ he thought, finally, managing to reign himself in a bit. _...But this late in the term? _He quashed the errant thought. After all, it wasn't _so_ late. Not for some. Still...

"Are you a transfer?" he asked, his speech steadying now that he had some sort of idea what this might be about.

She didn't answer. She seemed on the verge of formulating some sort of reply, but whatever she was thinking didn't quite seem to click...

Amias, a bit concerned now, took a few steps toward her. He was just a little afraid she might collapse... "Do you know my brother?" he asked. He absolutely did not doubt Kerstan when the boy said he had conquests as far as Siam.

She shook her head. "I think I'm lost," she admitted, her voice a bit shaky. "I need to see Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster."

A few things flipped themselves through Amias's head just then. The first was that this girl was obviously either insane or in shock and probably needed some sort of attention-- medical, psychological, administrative, it really wasn't up to him. The second was that he wasn't sure whether she meant she wanted to see Professor Dumbledore or Headmaster Dippet. Dumbledore was out in Hogsmeade, chaperoning the trip and so only Dippet was readily available.

The thought flickered in his mind for a bit, that she might have actually _believed_ Professor Dumbledore was in fact the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but it was so ridiculous it snuffed itself out almost immediately. Everyone knew who Dumbledore was after his momentous, shattering confrontation with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. Also, everyone knew that Armando Dippet was the Headmaster of the School where Dumbledore taught. The girl was simply a bit out of sorts and speaking quickly.

"I'll take you to the Headmaster straight away," he nodded in what he sincerely hoped was a reassuring manner. He was really hoping a lot of things these days he noted, a bit darkly. From the trivial to the terrific, as Eris would say.

He held out a hand to escort her, and tried to ignore the further shock and confusion exploding like splashes of paint across her face.

O

Draco was really, actually, very nervous. His heart sounded like it was beating against his ear drums, bouncing from one to the other, THUMP, THUMP. He knew he was taking too long to respond, but he had no idea what to say. "Sorry Uncle Kerstan, of course you haven't heard of me, because I won't really be born for another four decades or so, please don't kill me now-- my father got you a rather nice watch for Christmas and said it was from all of us, so, really, a third of it was from me and you really did enjoy it immensely. If you killed me you'd probably have to feel bad about a whole third of your watch in the future, which would be awful, since you really did enjoy it so immensely," etc, etc. Useless drivel really. Absolutely not worthy of audible communication.

He opened his mouth to squeak out some sort of lame excuse or apology-- "I---"

"Oh, _stop, _Kerstan, he's obviously one of your traumatized relatives from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons... See? He's even wearing a Slytherin scarf."

Draco resisted the urge to touch his scarf nervously. That was right-- absolutely right, he was in Hogwarts clothes and there was no reason why...

"I haven't got any French relatives," Kerstan said, sounding rather annoyed.

Draco sort of craned his neck to get a better look at the girl who'd voiced the suggestion. She was sort of a tiny, chubby girl with a snake wrapped around her neck. It hissed at him, as though curious, and then Kerstan blocked his view.

"Durmstrang, then," another girl chimed in. Draco could see _her_ clearly from where he stood. Tall with brown hair that had a bit of a red tinge to it, curled around a face that was probably one of the more exquisite ones he'd seen in his life. She stood, elegantly draped in red even though he was sure she must've been a Slytherin. There was something majestic about her-- something a little sad too. She almost reminded him of his mother.

"The only relative I've got in Bulgaria is--"

"Dominic!" Draco couldn't help himself from exclaiming. He actually knew that one and was quite proud of it.

Kerstan raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, crazy Uncle Dominic," he finished, adding in the "crazy" quite unnecessarily, Draco thought. "Are you ... his son or something?"

Draco nodded, and then swiftly added. "My mother's just left him and quite frankly I'm sick of the both of them-- which is why I'm going to Hogwarts this year."

The tall girl had an eyebrow raised, the short one seemed to have vanished, and Kerstan had his nose scrunched up just a bit. "I've heard some really ... unsettling things about Uncle Dominic," he said. "I suppose it's good... you wanting to get away from him."

"Of course it's good," that was the short girl again, piping up from behind Kerstan. It looked to Draco like she'd only vanished because she was hunched over, struggling with the snake around her neck. "It's absolutely wonderful, isn't it? Why should he want to spend time around Dominic, that batty, muggle-loving, well... bat." She smiled and tried to unwind the snake again, but it seemed determined to stay exactly where it was.

Draco knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was _staring_ at him. _Of course this is His time_, he thought. _It very well could be._

Now Kerstan had an eyebrow raised at the short girl. "I hear Dominic's wife was a bit more sensible than he was..."

"Blood will tell," the short girl said. She gave up wrestling with the snake and practically jumped up to Draco, linking her arm in his. "We should take him to Dumbledore straight away," she announced, half pulling him to the door. "Obviously he's very, very lost..."

"Dumbledore?" Kerstan seemed incredulous. The tall girl, indifferent. "Why not Verence or even Slughorn...?"

"Oh, I like to see Dumbledore," the short girl said, not stopping to talk-- she continued dragging Draco out the door and Kerstan and the tall girl had almost no choice but to follow. "He's got such twinkly eyes and he pats me on the head and calls me 'Dear'."

"I thought you said that was patronizing?" that was the tall girl, not really saying much.

"No, I said _you'd_ probably think it was... that P-word. Whatever you said," the short girl tugged him straight out of the Hogs Head and started on down the street toward the Three Broomsticks.

While Draco didn't particularly like being dragged, he didn't want to complain either. Dumbledore was the only professor he felt comfortable seeing at this point. All the others... well, he didn't even know who they were.

_I wonder if Granger will already be speaking with him? _he thought, just before the short girl yanked him so hard he felt as though his shoulder was about to pop.

"Eris, have you gone spotty again?" that was Kerstan asking. He really didn't seem to like following.

"Oh yes, that's exactly what I've gone," the short girl--apparently Eris, laughed. "A bonefied polka dot explosion."

Draco twisted to try to see the two people trailing them. The tall girl was shooting a look at Eris that was sort of a mix between _What are you doing? _and _You will explain this to me later right?, _that Eris was completely ignoring. Kerstan just looked annoyed. He was firing off looks like _You are bloody insane _and _I hate following bloody insane women._

The younger Malfoy still hadn't quite got his footing when he was almost _thrown_ through the entrance of the Three Broomsticks. Gryffindors sat all around, wearing their stupid looking red and yellow scarves. He nearly crashed into one of them, and as soon as he caught himself, he spun on Eris about to scream at her for being a daft, _crazy_... but she'd already skipped up to Dumbledore, who looked just as surprised to see the Slytherin bunch as Kerstan had been when that stupid, insane little girl had first suggested going to Dumbledore.

She was pointing at Draco, rather rudely, he thought, saying, "Look, Professor, we've found a lost transfer... you'll take care of him won't you?"

Dumbledore looked past her. His ice blue eyes met Draco's and he regarded the boy with a sort of curious look. "Of course, Dear," he said. He smiled at Eris. "We'll have this all straightened out in no time."

He looked toward Draco again. "Sit," he offered, motioning to the empty seat across from him. "You can go now, my dear, thank you so much for finding him," Dumbledore, shooing Eris away.

"Bye!" the girl said, waving generally. A few people waved back and, just as abruptly as they'd swept in, Kerstan, Eris, and the tall girl swept out. Draco thought he heard something like "I do fancy a cup of tea, perhaps now we should go by Madame PuddyMuddy's" followed by a "Dear Merlin, you _are_ in a spotty mood" before he sat down.

"Now then," Dumbledore said, crossing his fingers under his auburn beard. "You're a transfer?"

Draco had a feeling the old man knew more than he let on -- he always seemed to. He looked around suspiciously before leaning forward to whisper, "I'm from--" but Dumbledore cut him off with a quick wave.

"Oh somewhere very interesting, that much I'm sure of," he said, eyes twinkling almost madly. "But I'm sure it wouldn't be very good if I knew. Quite sure. And you probably shouldn't tell anyone else either. I think they would be tempted to ask questions they simply should not know the answers to."

Draco wanted to grab the man by the beard and yank him down into his soup. Instead he shook his head, wallowing in near abject disappointment. "No," he said, "You've got to..." and then he stopped.

What had he been planning to say, anyway? "You've got to help me get back"? Back to where Voldemort was still, most certainly trying to kill him? That would be mad! Of course he didn't want to go back-- not quite yet at least.

"You've got to help me get settled in," he finished. "I'm afraid my paperwork may have been lost."

Dumbledore had a bit of an unsettled frown on his face as he said, "Of course," there was a slight pause then and Draco wasn't sure whether he was supposed to say anything more. Finally, Dumbledore said "We'll be heading back to the school soon and get you sorted out with the Headmaster, right away. For now, why don't you have a butterbeer?"

O

As soon as Hermione saw the Headmaster, she knew she was going to lie. This made her rather nervous as she knew she was absolute rubbish at lying. The man across her looked as though he might keel over in the next strong wind. He coughed a bit weakly, cleared his throat, and put on a thick pair of spectacles.

She'd recognized him immediately. She'd read _Hogwarts a History_ practically a thousand times-- she knew every Headmaster's face and name by heart. Especially this one.

Armando Dippet. Most noted, now, for being Headmaster at the time that Voldemort attended Hogwarts. It explained a lot actually. The shops, the fact that she didn't recognise anyone in Hogsmeade, the Amias Malfoy.

"So," Dippet said, eyebrows furrowed just a bit slightly. "You're a transfer?"

She couldn't think of anything to say. She wanted to ask, the question was marinating behind her teeth, but she couldn't bring herself to ask it. _What year is this? _She'd pretty much got it, approximately. She reached up to fiddle with her scarf only to realize that it wasn't there-- must've fallen off, probably when Draco knocked her over since she hadn't tied it round herself.

She knew she was wearing black robes with a Hogwarts crest on them. Armando Dippet was the Headmaster, so the Malfoy that'd escorted her to him and then, in a very chivalrous manner, offered to wait outside for her must have been Draco's grandfather or great-grandfather. Hogwarts was taking transfers-- so many so that her presence hadn't _really_ been questioned by said Malfoy...

And no one had said anything about her robes yet. As though it were perfectly natural for someone that they believed was not a student of Hogwarts to be wearing them. There were very few times in the history of the school that Hermione could think of, where students from other schools received Hogwarts robes before actually meeting any member of the staff and only one that coincided with Armando Dippet's turn as Headmaster.

Grindelwald. The second world war. The refugees. She didn't know the _exact_ year though; had to fight down the urge to find out. Voldemort could be walking through the very halls she'd known and loved nearly half her life right at that moment-- or he could've just left, or maybe he hadn't even entered the school at all.

She didn't even know how long she'd been quiet, when Dippet cut into her thoughts, his face melting behind his glasses, becoming at once warm and sympathetic. "I know that this isn't easy for you," he said. "I really can't imagine what you must have been through."

Hermione felt almost embarrassed by how understanding he was. It made her want to squirm and apologise and say, well, yes, I was very nearly murdered just a few hours ago, and yes, life has been hard, but I'm going to lie to you. And she was. She was sure. Because you couldn't just try to change the past any-which-way you wanted. It wasn't _right_. It wasn't in the rules. Very probably it would make things worse, unless you were _sure_... but who could be? Who decided things like that? Certainly not Hermione Granger.

Time was such a fuzzy thing. There was no way to know whether she would change things or whether something like this was destined to happen. She didn't know what to do. She still didn't know what to say.

Armando Dippet seemed like such a good and earnest man-- it almost broke her heart to think that anyone could ever betray his trust. She didn't want to lie to him.

"I--" she began, without quite knowing what was going to follow.

It ended up not mattering. At that moment, Professor Dumbledore entered the room, followed closely by Draco Malfoy.

Even though she was aware that this was the past and Dumbledore would look very different, she couldn't help but be shocked by his rich auburn hair. The way he looked almost _youthful_.

"Ah," he said. "I see we have another misplaced Durmstrang transfer?"

"Oh," Dippet said, glancing at Draco. "Are there two, Albus?"

"I suppose," Professor Dumbledore remarked with a worried smile. "If you've got one and I've got one."

Hermione had to wonder what Draco told Dumbledore. Had to wonder what he might've told _anyone_.

"The transfer board has really been slipping lately," Headmaster Dippet shook his head. "But I understand... it's been a tough year for everyone."

Hermione could see that Draco was sort of sneering at the Headmaster and decided she really didn't want to look at him.

"Very nearly a tough decade," Dumbledore agreed.

"We'll assign you houses," Dippet said, addressing Hermione and Draco. "Young man, you're a Malfoy aren't you?"

"Yes," Draco said. "Yes I am."

Dippet smiled, "I suppose you'll want to be in Slytherin then." The Headmaster got out a clean piece of parchment and started writing. "What was your name, young man? I'm sorry I didn't catch..."

"Draco," he replied. "Malfoy. And I'm a sixth year."

"Of course," the Headmaster said, making a note of it. He turned a soft look on Hermione. "And you young lady? Do you have an idea of which house you would feel most comfortable in?"

Hermione was about to say Gryffindor. She was very nearly about to shout it, but Professor Dumbledore stepped in saying. "I think it might be best to keep these two in the same house, don't you agree, Armando? After all, they've come all this way together already and it seems as though this girl has already met Amias Malfoy."

Hermione whirled around. As much as she loved and respected Professor Dumbledore, this-- this was a bit much. She could have screamed. He had no idea... he was putting them both in, quite possibly, the very same house that Voldemort belonged to and Draco wasn't even an Occlumens. It was absolutely insane-- and Draco-- that bloody idiot...

"With all due respect, Sir," Hermione said, finally speaking up. "I really don't think I'd do well in Slytherin. From what I've heard about it, that is."

"Oh," the Headmaster said, with a reassuring smile. "I know the rumors, believe me, but it's all nonsense. Some of our finest students are currently in Slytherin house. For example, Amias Malfoy is our Head Boy and Tom Riddle, just a year under him is a likely candidate for the position next year. Nadia Rook is one of our top academic achievers and Eris Daw is certainly one of the friendliest people in the school."

Hermione stopped listening after she heard the name Tom Riddle. Her ears thickened up, she turned to see Draco and saw that his face had gone even paler than it usually was. Of course he'd forgotten. Even Dumbledore's smile seemed frozen in place now.

"Yes, yes," the Transfiguration Professor was saying. "All fine students, of course. Though I can't help but think that perhaps these two might both do better in Gryffindor? I meant to say so earlier, of course, but I didn't know you were having them choose..."

"Albus, I understand that you do want to help the best you can, but really, this boy is a Malfoy and they're both from Durmstrang..."

"I'm not a pureblood," Hermione blurted out. "I'm a muggle, if I were in Slytherin..."

"If you really feel that strongly about it," Headmaster Dippet said. "I'm perfectly fine with putting the both of you in Gryffindor, as Professor Dumbledore suggested..."

But Draco was shaking his head. "I can't be in Gryffindor," he said. "I'm a Malfoy. I have to be a Slytherin."

Hermione wanted to say that it would be all right if Dippet split them up, but she knew it wouldn't. With Draco not being an Occlumens-- "It's only a _name_, Draco," she said, turning. "Don't you think, maybe there are more important things?"

"Like what?" Draco countered, sounding almost vicious. Hermione could barely believe what was happening-- as though _everything_ that'd happened in the past twenty-four hours wasn't unbelievable. She didn't even know how to respond to such an arrantly ridiculous statement.

"Of course you don't _have_ to be in the same house," Dippet said. "Really, splitting you up wouldn't be a problem."

"No," Hermione said, her voice quieting. "No, I want to be in Slytherin too."

She thought Professor Dumbledore, at least, must have looked as sick as she did.

* * *

**NOTES&DISCLAIMER: **HAPPY NEW YEAR! The quote is from Bob Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower", but if we're being honest, I was listening to the Jimi Hendrix version...

On a completely unrelated note, I just kind of want to know... Do you put one or two spaces after your periods when you type?

_Thank you: Flaignhan, Youko-sama, Cathar, jeanne (thank you for also liking ouroboros!), Gueneviere, Cooki, and tragic butterfly_


	5. smoke gets in your eyes

**NOUGHTS AND CROSSES**

* * *

_When a lovely flame dies / Smoke gets in your eyes_

* * *

"Don't you think, maybe, there are more important things?"

The urge to repeat the sentence in a high-pitched voice with his nose scrunched up nearly into his eyebrows was so strong that Draco actually, almost did it. The mudblood was so stupid it practically made his blood boil. He even felt a bit warm- not flush though. Pale. Angry.

Because how stupid could she really think he was? He'd heard the name Tom Riddle. Of course he knew who Tom Riddle was-Theo had made sure of that- and _of course_ he didn't want to be anywhere near him. But it wasn't exactly as though it were avoidable.

He was a Malfoy. It didn't matter what house he was in. Both his grandfather and uncle were part of Voldemort's group. One or the other of them would surely come after him, whether he was a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, a Gryffindor, or a Slytherin. It didn't matter. He knew his uncle fairly well and he knew that the man would thoroughly investigate any family member _not_ sorted into Slytherin. It wouldn't make sense to him- it would be a disgrace, and even if Kerstan wasn't very bright, his interest might raise Voldemort's interest and then what?

Besides, he didn't doubt that they would find out, somehow, that he hadn't chosen Slytherin. That he'd been given the option and declined after wearing the tie and talking to Kerstan like he wasn't proud to be a son of Dominic's. Hiding would raise suspicion. It would draw too much attention.

Better to be in Slytherin, he thought. There was a chance he could fade into the background- he really wasn't Death Eater material anyway. They would probably notice that. Then they wouldn't think of him much. They wouldn't ask him to join-couldn't ask him, in fact, since they didn't know him and he was Dominic's son and they couldn't be sure. He'd be safer in Slytherin.

Of course the mudblood wouldn't be, so when she told Dippet that she wanted to be in Slytherin as well, Draco got a very clear, violent mental image of himself slapping her in the face with the Headmaster's paperweight.

Dippet said, "Now, young lady, if you're ready to tell me your name?"

Draco could tell she was thinking about it and decided that he couldn't risk her giving herself a muggle name. They'd be dead for sure if she did. "Hermione Rush," he said, thiking of the first pureblood non-Hogwartsian name that came to mind. "That's her name."

Granger shot him an annoyed look. _Idiot_, he thought, _I just_ saved _her._

But of course she couldn't see that.

Stupid mudbloods never saw _anything_.

O

Hermione's face was literally quite ashen when they left the Headmaster's office. She could feel the grey working its way from her nose outward, flecking the pale along her cheeks and neck. She thought she was sweating. Checked her palms and realized that no, no she wasn't. She'd just gone cold. So amazingly, lumpily cold that she couldn't even swallow. Couldn't muster up the energy to scream at Malfoy for what he'd just _stupidly_ forced them into because of some _stupid_ pureblood pride. It was insanity. Absolute insanity, and then he'd gone and _named_ her- the very _gall_, she could hardly _breathe_.

There were so many things she couldn't focus, just step, step, stepped. She knew they were following Dumbledore somewhere. To McGonagall's office- or no, to Dumbledore's. McGonagall wouldn't even have an office yet- she might not have even _graduated._

Before she even realized it, they were in his office. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore pulled out a pair of plush, red armchairs for them to sit on. He swept behind his desk and regarded them, intense blue eyes piercing over his spectacles. Hermione didn't look him square in the eye. He was a Legilimens, and if he knew they were from the future...

She wanted to warn Draco, but that would've made Dumbledore look. She could tell that Malfoy's attention was wavering anyway. All of Dumbledore's wonderful, silver, whirring gadgets were distracting him, and for some reason that irritated her so much her jaw set. She wanted to hit him, desperately, but that would involve touching him, and he wasn't _worth..._

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Draco's head snapped forward. The professor looked very serious for a moment, his forehead wrinkling slightly in concern. Hermione barely even noticed she was holding her breath, the only thing that clued her in was the fact that her head felt a bit airier. If Dumbledore saw, if he knew, they might've just... she didn't even know. _Broken the universe,_ maybe?

But Dumbledore was relaxing. A wan smile crept across his face and he clasped his hands together over his cluttered mahogany desk.

"You've both come a very long way," he said. "And your situation is rather unique, I imagine."

Draco fidgeted in his seat. Hermione sank a bit into hers, noticing just then how warm, comfortable, and velvety it was. Like the sort of chair you'd expect to find in front of a fireplace at an expensive ski lodge. She missed her scarf. If she'd had it, she would've wrapped it tight around her neck, pulled it up over her nose, snuggled into it, and pretended that Professor Dumbledore wasn't there at all- that they weren't actually having this conversation, that she was sitting in one of the large comfortable (though, sadly not _as_ comfortable) chairs in the Gryffindor common room waiting for Harry and Ron to get back from Hogsmeade.

Of course that wasn't the case at all. Since neither Draco or Hermione had said anything, Dumbledore went on. "I'm not entirely sure what is going on," he said, and Hermione noticed that he was now very careful not to look at either of them too directly. "But I know that the both of you must exercise the utmost caution."

He stopped then, as though he didn't know what more to say. That stop had Hermione worried. They couldn't _tell_ him what had happened. They'd already violated a thousand laws regarding time and time travel. Actually it was more like three or four terribly vital laws- she couldn't figure out whether going back farther than a time turner could go was technically against the law. She was sure that it _would_ be, if it were possible. Which it wasn't. Except that it was. And it was a situation so snarled that Dumbledore hardly even knew what it was and he didn't even have an inkling on how to fix it.

He knew just enough to know that he couldn't know any more about it. What advice could he possibly give?

Finally, he said this:

"You'll most certainly have to look out for each other. There are some rather... astute students in Slytherin," he paused. "But I'm sure the both of you will manage to make it home just fine all the same. I'll grant you unlimited access to the Restricted Section of our Library for the time being, and of course if there's anything I can help you with... well, but you must leave out the specifics."

"Sir," Hermione said, finding her voice finally. But she didn't know what she could say. She would have to be very careful what she asked him, how she asked him. She didn't even know if he knew they were from the future, necessarily, or what time in the future they were from or... well, it was impossible to know what he'd got out of Draco's head. So she asked him this instead: "What about our supplies?"

"Some standard supplies will be loaned to you by the school for the remainder of the year," Dumbledore replied. "Now, if you'll write down what your coursework was at Durmstrang, for me, the Headmaster and I will attempt to match your previous schedules as closely as possible."

"Professor," Draco said, raising a hand out of habit. "What if we don't _want_ to go home?"

Hermione's heart stopped. She thought Draco must have been joking, could not _possibly_ be that stupid. Of course they had to go home. They didn't belong in 1944. They weren't even born yet- just going back in the _first_ place was terrible, who _knew_ what kind of damage actually _staying_ might cause? Besides, she had to get back to Dumbledore in their time. Had to tell him about the Death Eater Initiation in Hogsmeade- and Draco had to go with her and tell him everything he knew. It was vital- there was a _war._

"I don't think that would be wise," Dumbledore said, though he didn't look surprised at all by the question. "I think you'll find that running away from your difficulties won't make them disappear," he unclasped his hands, spreading them toward Draco. "Certain things have a terrible way of haunting you no matter where you go."

"I think I've got a good lead on them," Draco said.

Dumbledore cracked a wry smile. "Don't we all?"

Hermione could tell Malfoy had his teeth clenched. She knew what he was thinking and she believed he was a complete idiot. He was afraid of Voldemort back in their time- but there was a Voldemort here too. Maybe not as old, maybe not as powerful, but arguably just as dangerous. And no one could protect Malfoy here- not like Dumbledore could in their time- no one even knew he was dangerous yet. Only one person suspected.

She couldn't believe what was happening. It was impossible. All of it. Absolutely impossible. If they even wanted to _survive_ in this time, she'd have to run Draco through a crash course in Occlumency. The very prospect was absolute insanity. Every single aspect of it, because _no one_ could become an Occlumens as quickly as Draco would have to. It'd taken _her_ months to get even a passable grasp of it; there was no way that _Draco_ _Malfoy,_ of all people...

It was enough to make someone scream.

Dumbledore passed her a blank piece of parchment and a quill. She blinked at it for a moment, before biting her bottom lip and writing quickly: _Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration. _ When she finished, she noticed she'd written them down in alphabetical order, without thinking, and almost had to smile at how neat it looked. Some small bit of order. A tiny parcel of sense.

Reluctantly, she handed it back to Dumbledore. Draco turned his in as well.

"If there's nothing further," Dumbledore said. "You're free to go. Someone should be by shortly to escort you to the Slytherin dormitory- if they are not already waiting, that is."

Both Hermione and Draco mumbled something like "Thank you, Professor," back and left his office.

As soon as they were out, Draco started walking rather purposefully toward the Slytherin common room. "Wait!" Hermione shouted, going after him. "You can't just go off like that- we're not supposed to know where it is."

"So I was wandering," Draco said, not stopping. "And I found it by instinct."

"_Wait_," Hermione insisted, grabbing his sleeve.

"Don't _touch_ me, you filthy mudblood," Draco hissed, pulling his arm back.

Hermione's head got thick. It felt as though something in her throat was burning, steaming upward- her neck absolutely _burned_. She wanted to slap him, wanted to tell him off, wanted to say _something,_ but she held her temper. "Do you even know who Tom Riddle _is?_" she asked, as calmly as she could manage.

"Of course," Draco replied, looking both offended and annoyed. "You-Know-Who, before his rise to power."

Hermione battled down the urge to roll her eyes. _Then why did you want to be sorted into his_ _House_? she thought bitterly. "He's a _Legilimens_," she said out loud. "Do you even have any idea what that means, Malfoy?"

Draco's face went blank. Hermione could tell he didn't want to admit his ignorance. He drew himself up and she knew that he was about to stomp away, so she quickly added: "It means he can read your mind."

That stopped him. "You-Know-Who can," Draco said. "Tom Riddle is just a half-blood. He hasn't even properly... _become_ anything."

Hermione almost couldn't believe her ears; the statement was so absurd. "They're the same person, Malfoy," she said, trying to be patient. "Maybe he can't read minds as well as Voldemort-" Draco flinched there, "-but he can all the same."

"So what am I supposed to do about it?" Draco asked, his voice taking on a hint of contention. "It's done, then, if I even get close to him-"

"You have to be making eye contact," Hermione said quickly. "And he can only see what you're thinking about at the time. You have to try to clear your mind-"

She had to stop short then. There were voices carrying toward them from down the hall.

"- the strangest thing, because, you know, she _hates _the way he calls her 'Dear'."

"Well a lot has happened in the past year. It's not so inconceivable that-"

_Those_ voices stopped abruptly upon noticing Hermione and Draco waiting in the hall. She recognized Amias the second he came into her view. It was so strange... when she looked from him to Draco and back, the differences were obvious, but the resemblance was still uncanny. _He _must _be Malfoy's grandfather, _she thought, as both Amias and a girl she didn't recognise walked toward them.

"There you are," Amias was saying. He walked directly up to Draco, extending a hand. "I don't think we've met- I'm Amias," he said. "Always happy to meet a member of the family." Draco took the other boy's hand automatically and shook it.

Hermione could tell he was trying to keep his expression level, but she knew it must've been odd for him. Shaking hands with his grandfather- with his _young_ grandfather.

The girl Hermione didn't know walked up to her and gracefully extended a hand. "I'm Elaina," she said. Hermione couldn't help but think there was something a bit slithery about her.

"Hermione," she replied, taking the other girl's hand and shaking it lightly. Elaina's hand seemed cold and smooth, almost like a statue. Hermione resisted the urge to shudder, putting on her best fake smile instead.

"We're here to take you to the common room," Elaina said. "Hogwarts can be confusing for newcomers."

Hermione didn't even want to look at Draco just then. She had a horrible feeling that his face would be pinched up and snobby, and that he would nearly be about to say something about not being a newcomer or not having any difficulty getting around.

It was to her great relief that he then said, "I can imagine, with all the... corridors and ...staircases."

"Yes, there are quite a few of them," Amias said. "And they do tend to move around sometimes. It'll be best if you stay close."

"Some people _live _here and they still manage to get lost," Elaina said. "Like Eris in fifth year that time she managed to get herself locked in that closet."

"Bloody nightmare, that was," Amias said. Then, "Speak of the devil," as Eris came clamoring around the corner.

There was a moment of horror in which Hermione realized the smaller girl was rushing-was about to rush into them. "Hey-" she started to say.

But it was too late, Eris tripped right over herself, flying forward across the floor. She'd been holding a bag filled with some kind of dust that exploded out of her arms, rushing toward Hermione and Draco.

The Gryffindor turned Slytherin raised an arm to shield her eyes just a little too late and ended up blinking and coughing, trying to rub the stuff away. It felt strange, she noticed. Cold. Not like any dust she knew of and she couldn't help but worry that she'd just been poisoned.

"Merlin, what _is_ that?" Draco asked, outrage apparent in his voice as he angrily tried to swab the stuff off of his face.

"I'm so sorry!" Eris exclaimed. "It's harmless-I think it's harmless-it's just something Ardennes and I were working on to add to tea. To help you study better."

"I had bloody well better ace all my coursework this semester," Draco grumbled, opening his eyes as wide as he could before crushing them closed a few times.

He sneezed into his sleeve and Elaina gave him a look that made it quite clear she preferred not to be around for other people's bodily functions. "Let's get you to the common room so you can get cleaned off..." she said, angling her head toward the hall.

Both she and Amias had managed to escape with just a few specks of dust on them. Amias flicked his from his robes easily. "Yes," he said, "You'll probably want to get settled in as well."

"I'll come with you," Eris chimed in. "I've got to tell Ardennes I spilled all this... stuff," she said, frowning.

It was all Hermione could do not to roll her eyes as she followed the two older Slytherins down the hallway.

She was almost certain that her new house would be the death of her.

* * *

**THANK YOU: **to um... wow jeez I guess everyone who has reviewed this story since the last time it was updated. It's been kind of a long time, huh... :/


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